#i can always tell when the time is approaching because i feel mildly nauseous for a good few days before

[thatrandombystander]

Heartwarming! Person who was getting increasingly concerned cramps were gonna ruin their weekend plans and mood instead starts their Time Of Blood on Friday morning meaning the worst of the cramps should be over by Saturday morning 👍

[sdvvillagers]

I'm a sucker for parent headcanons, so could you make hcs for the mothers of the valley finding out they're pregnant, and also, them telling their spouses that they're gonna be daddies. Thanks a bunch!

Aw, me too!  I live for family dynamics and family fluff hcs, they’re always just so sweet to me.  I’ll give it my best shot!

Caroline - Now Caroline’s is a precarious one to answer because it all depends on whether or not you subscribe to the hc that Abigail is the wizard’s daughter, not Pierre’s.  Because let’s face it, her reaction is going to be WILDLY different depending on whether or not infidelity is a factor.  So, just to keep with the fuzzy feelings, I’ll go ahead and answer this as though Abigail is most definitely Pierre’s. XD The other version can maybe be for a later day.

Caroline knew from the very first moment she felt nauseous that she was pregnant.  She didn’t even need a test, at that point a test was just a formality.  Yet as sure as she was, she wanted to take a test to be able to show Pierre and surprise him with the good news.  When Pierre wasn’t looking, Caroline swiped a pregnancy test from a store shelf and took it immediately.  She grinned when it gave her the exact result she was expecting.  But how to tell Pierre?  Simply telling him wouldn’t be enough, it had to be something fun and exciting.  Just minutes before the store closed, Caroline approached the counter with a package of diapers to purchase.  Pierre stared in confusion, unsure of what Caroline was getting at.  She shook her head and laughed, apparently Pierre needed the direct approach.  On top of the diapers she placed the positive pregnancy test and a handful of coins and said “sorry to purchase it after it’s already used… I didn’t think you’d mind”.  Pierre became so lightheaded he nearly fainted.

Jodi - (had to reference a previous Kent ask to refresh my memory on a few things! XD) Jodi and Kent got married very young, but didn’t start a family right away.  They struggled financially right from the start and it didn’t ease up for quite some time.  But after two years of marriage, Jodi was growing impatient.  She wanted that perfect life you see in movies; she wanted to be the perfect wife and mother with a beautiful home and loving family and was disheartened that it wasn’t happening.  Despite their financial troubles, they decided to start a family anyway.  It was barely a month after they had made that decision that Jodi had a gut feeling to take a test.  She wasn’t showing any symptoms, but she just had a feeling that she needed to take a test.  When it came back positive, she ran into the living room and thrust the test into Kent’s hands.  His face went pale and he looked up at Jodi and responded with a nervous, quivering laugh, “Looks like I’m gonna need a second job”.

With Vincent, this pregnancy was a complete and utter surprise.  In fact, Jodi had no clue until Kent had already returned to the war and months had passed.  She was already past the first trimester when she couldn’t ignore her fatigue any longer.  Running the household in Kent’s absence and raising Sam on her own was a lot of work, but she felt more tired than she ever had in quite some time.  After visiting the clinic to run a few tests, it was revealed to her that she was pregnant, already a few months along by that point.  When she was finally able to reach out to Kent and tell him, he was silent on the other end for what felt like an eternity.  When he finally did speak, his voice cracked with emotion and all he could say was “I’m sorry I can’t be there for you”.  When the call ended, Jodi went into her room, closed the door, and was thankful that the sounds of Sam’s guitar drowned out her sobs.

Robin - When Robin took the test for her first pregnancy, she was terrified.  Sebastian’s father wasn’t exactly what you would consider “dad material” putting it mildly and the last thing Robin needed was to bring a child into an already complicated relationship.  However, finding out she was pregnant did at least serve as a catalyst for Robin to leave Sebastian’s father once and for all and head off on her own.  She never even told him that she was pregnant.  As for Robin’s second pregnancy, the news was received with much greater enthusiasm and joy.

It wasn’t long after her marriage to Demetrius that they started trying for a baby and Demetrius was frustratingly analytical of the entire process.  Ovulation calendars were drawn up, temperatures were taken obsessively to determine ideal fertility windows, everything was tracked to maximize their success rate.  Robin should have known this is how it would go, that was just Demetrius’ nature and although it was a bit much, she found it oddly endearing.  The first two tests that Robin took came back negative, causing Demetrius to get disheartened .  As a man of science, it was not easy to approach this with all the preparation and analysis he could and yet not see proper results.  Before Robin took her third test, she joked with Demetrius “third time’s the charm” to which Demetrius rolled his eyes and replied “if you believe in such superstition”... but there it was, a positive pregnancy test that brought a smirk to Robin’s face and made Demetrius’ eyes widen as he grinned with giddy enthusiasm.  The third time really was the charm and Demetrius was never so happy for superstition to hold truth.

[hotchscotchh]

Reimagined

Hey y’all! This is going to be my first multichapter fic and I am excited :) I wasn’t sure what to call it, so I went with “Reimagined” because I guess that’s kind of what I’m attempting to do here? But that’s all fanfiction, really. This is mildly NSFW!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Warnings: canon typical violence, kind of smut? I guess

Word Count: 1.7k

A special thanks to @Reidology for your beta-ing and support!

Read on AO3

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Based on 3x14, Damaged

Chester Hardwick. A serial killer that managed to take the lives of twenty-three women before he was caught. Hardwick had decided he was ready to talk, and Spencer Reid couldn’t have been more excited to get into this man’s mind. Hotch, on the other hand, was just plain angry, and for good reason. Haley was being completely unfair with this divorce. He figured if he had something else to focus on, the pain and anger would leave the forefront of his mind, at least momentarily.

None of that interview had gone as planned. Hotch had tried to fight Hardwick after the man revealed his plans of killing two FBI agents to get out of the death penalty, thinking maybe he could put his anger to good use. Reid, though, had been able to talk him down, and likely saved his superior’s life, talking and distracting Hardwick for the thirteen minutes they had before the guards returned.

Hotch was impressed. He’d never seen someone distract an unsub for that amount of time, let alone calm him down enough to deter his plan of killing so instantly. But a play on narcissism was always a strong one.

Reid was… Well, Reid was turned on, to say the least. This sort of adrenaline always got him going. And seeing his boss all puffed up, ready to kill the man who had just threatened to kill them? That was a thought for another time.

“So, Haley wants me to sign the divorce paper uncontested so nobody wastes money on lawyers,” Hotch started, when they were in the car on the way back to D.C. “You don’t want to?” Reid questioned. “What I want I’m not gonna get,” Hotch replied, leaving Reid puzzled. “What is it you want, Hotch?” He didn’t get an answer.

----

Back in Quantico, the team had just wrapped up another case. Reid was currently witnessing a very confusing encounter. Kevin had just stopped Rossi and said they needed to talk “man to man,” and then JJ sang some song about Garcia and Kevin and a tree? He had no idea what was going on. Instead of continuing to sit there confused (no one would explain it to him for some reason, apparently what was happening was obvious), Spencer decided to go check on Hotch. He had obviously not taken Haley’s request well, and the interview couldn’t have helped.

“Hotch,” Reid said quietly, knocking on the office door and poking his head in. “Come in Reid, close the door,” Hotch replied, not looking up from his paperwork. Reid sat down in the chair across from Aaron and handed him a file. “My reports for the interview.” “Thank you, Reid, I appreciate you getting this done so quickly. I wanted to apologize for the situation I put you in today, it really was not appropriate. I shouldn’t have provoked him the way I did,” Hotch stated in full “Unit Chief” mode. “Hotch,” Reid began, pausing and making sure the words that were about to come out of his mouth were going to come out correctly. “Let me take you out for dinner tonight. I think you need someone to talk to, and honestly, I probably do too.” Reid didn’t really need to talk, he had been doing much better in the aftermath of Hankel recently, but he did know that his boss would be more likely to say yes if he thought it wouldn’t only be to benefit him. Hotch looked up from his paperwork, gave Reid a look the younger man couldn’t decipher, and thought for a few moments. “Well,” Aaron answered, “that actually sounds lovely. Let me just finish this last file and I’ll come get you. I’m assuming you took the metro?” Reid nodded. “Great. I’ll drive us and I can bring you home after. Think about where you want to go.”

Reid entered the bull pen with a faint smile on his face. Sitting down at his desk, he thought back to how Hotch looked preparing to defend himself and Spencer from that highly dangerous man and found himself beginning to get hard. He shook his head as if he could shake the thoughts from his mind and walked to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He wasn’t supposed to think about coworkers like that. Especially not his boss. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault the man was so effortlessly attractive. Spencer then reminded himself that his boss was married. It was a failing marriage, but the thought sobered him up either way. He made his way back to the bull pen and saw the face Morgan was making at him. “What, do I have something on my face?” he asked. “No,” Morgan replied. “You just were in Hotch’s office, came back all pale, and ran off to the bathroom. Are you feeling ok?” “Fine, just got a little nauseous for a moment. I’m okay now. Thanks for asking though, I appreciate it,” Reid answered, only half lying about the feeling of nausea.

Aaron came out of his office almost an hour later, finding Reid lost in a book at his desk. “Reid,” he called out softly, placing a hand softly on his shoulder as to not startle him too much. Reid jumped and looked up at him. “Hotch! You scared me,” he exclaimed. “Sorry,” Hotch chuckled. “I’m also sorry I took so long, I got call from the Wichita police department.” Reid looked up at him, disappointment showing clearly in his eyes. “No case,” Hotch said quickly, noticing the disappointment. “They were just letting me know how that case from a few weeks ago turned out. Our unsub was prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, landing him with three life sentences, no parole. Have you decided where you want to go for dinner?” Reid nodded and stood up, collecting his belongings and making his way towards the doors of the BAU.

Spencer didn’t begin to feel nervous until he was sitting in the front of Hotch’s SUV. Hotch turned to look at him and asked, “so, where are we going?” Reid replied, “it’s a surprise. I’ll just be your backseat driver and give you directions. Turn right out of the parking lot.”

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in front of a small Greek diner. “Did you know that Greek is my favorite?” Hotch asked, a small smile playing across his lips. His very kissable lips, Reid thought. Spencer blushed and looked away. “Yeah,” he answered quietly. “I thought you might want comfort food. I don’t really have experience, except for my own parent’s divorce, but I know what you’re going through can’t be easy.” Hotch’s smile grew. “Thank you, Reid.” They got out of the car and made their way into the restaurant.

“I’ll bet you that I can order for you and it’ll be exactly what you were thinking about ordering,” Hotch said, out of nowhere. “What’s on the line?” Reid asked. “Loser pays for dinner.” “You’re on, I’ll make the same bet,” Spencer answered, silently deciding he would wait on the difficult conversation until they received their food. The waitress approached their table and Hotch informed her they would be ordering for each other. The waitress gave a small smile, looking between the two of them. “Of course,” she said, leaning down to look over Hotch’s shoulder to see what he was pointing at on the menu before turning to Reid and doing the same.

The next fifteen minutes were filled mostly with Spencer finally getting an explanation as to what had occurred between Garcia, Kevin, and Rossi. Spencer laughed, not believing he hadn’t picked up on it. Their food arrived then, putting a stop to their conversation. The two men looked down at the food set in front of them. Reid had ordered a Greek soup for Hotch, and Hotch ordered Reid a pork gyro. They looked back up at each other and both said, “you win,” before laughing. “How about this,” Reid started. “I’ll pay this time, and you get the next one.” “The next one?” Hotch questioned. “Well, I hope there’ll be another, I don’t know about you, Hotch, but I’ve really enjoyed myself tonight.” Aaron looked back up smiling in a way that Reid had never seen before. “I have too, Reid.”

“So,” Spencer started cautiously. “Let’s talk. You never answered my question in the car before. What is it that you want?” Hotch heaved a sigh, looking down at his lap before resignedly looking back up to meet his subordinate’s eyes and said, “you can’t tell anyone anything about what I’m going to say.” Reid nodded earnestly, excited that the man was going to open up to him. “Haley wants full custody. Which, in reality, makes sense because of how often we’re away, but it means I’m not going to be able to see him anywhere near as much as I want to.” “That’s all, Hotch?” “Yeah.”

Reid thought for a few moments before speaking up again. “Why don’t you ask for skype or phone calls at least every other night? I know he’s little, but hearing your voice will be good for him. And for when you’re home, ask to have him at least two nights a week. Weeks we have off and holidays can be negotiated by the two of you privately. You know, her lawyers are probably just making an unfair offer to get you to contest it so they can make more money. She is a reasonable person. I’m sure she’ll be willing to compromise.” That was a lot for Hotch to take in. Letting out another sigh, Aaron looked back up as Spencer and replied, “That’s actually fairly realistic. I’ll talk to her about it. If she’s not willing to change, this is just going to have to get messy.” Relaxing back in his seat, Hotch gave a small smile. “I should come to you for advice more often, Spencer.”

That night, when Spencer got home from work, he got himself off to the thought of his (married) boss and only felt guilty for an hour. Or three.

[mononoavvare]

richard siken. “three proofs”. when you paint an evil thing / do you invoke it / or take away its power?

          Sai likes to walk home from training with the team each day. 

     He starts taking the street after a few weeks of simply running the rooftops back to his sparse apartment. The long roads home hold more life than any he’s ever seen-- residential districts, brightly colored homes with laughing children chattering on their way home from school, old women hanging laundry out to dry, young lovers whispering to one another with ducked heads as they scurry home in the hot, mid-afternoon light. Sai likes to watch all of this, as if it might give him some great insight into the minds of people. He likes to watch all of this like he might learn something important from them.

     On the way home, there is an old man. He sits in a wheelchair in an open doorway at the top of a set of narrow stairs and he frowns down at Sai the first few weeks he watches him pass. For lack of anything better to do, Sai always gives his plastic smile and waves, undaunted by the lack of friendly response in return. Walking past his door and his frown with a smile and a wave swiftly becomes a tradition, one that is broken after twelve days when The Old Man lifts a hand back and calls out, “Young man.”

     His voice is reedy, thin and his fingers gnarled like twigs but they do not shake in the warm summer air. The words stop Sai in his tracks and he turns to fully face the man, head tilted curiously. “Hello,” he greets politely, “My name is Sai.” 

     “I don’t care, kid,” The Old Man replies, beckoning him closer. Sai climbs the steps without thought as The Old Man continues, “I need your help.” He wheels himself back and Sai follows him inside-- the home is well-lit, full of pictures of smiling children and grandchildren, neat and lively in a way Sai didn’t expect. He is not sure what he expected to see instead, but he has little time to dwell on the minor curiosity. “I live with my daughters and their husbands,” The Old Man rasps, “and they never leave me enough damn water. I can’t reach the glasses or the sink in this, but the husbands loathe me and they never leave me enough damn water!” 

     Sai hums quietly in response and wanders into the kitchen, carefully picking through the cabinets until he finds the one with the glasses, and he gets The Old Man a cup of cool tap water while he waits in the doorway, tapping his bony fingers against the armrest of the chair. Sai is quiet, and the man looks at him suspiciously while he finishes off the water greedily, and holds the glass out for more. Sai obliges him. 

     That day, he leaves without saying another word, and The Old Man only grumbles a reluctant ‘thank you’ as he wanders out the front door-- Sai just hums in response. 

     Every day for the next few weeks The Old Man beckons him inside of his unexpectedly cheery home and asks him for a glass of water, and Sai silently obliges because really, he has nothing better to do. It’s a few minutes of his time spent on a mindless, simple task. Sometimes The Old Man is silent outside of his gruff demands, and sometimes The Old Man tells him about his family-- the successful daughters, the sons-in-law who hate him, the grandchildren who go to tutoring after school that are going to be doctors and lawyers and other such things just like their mothers. He tells Sai he is alone all day and the sons in law don’t leave him enough water to drink because they hate him and wish him ill, and Sai almost fondly thinks The Old Man reminds him a little bit of Lord Danzo. 

          The more time he spends with team seven, the less fond the comparison seems-- he tries not to think too hard on it. 

     After helping and listening to The Old Man rattle off whatever comes to mind for nearly two weeks, The Old Man tells him of The Neighbor’s Dog. The Neighbor’s Dog, he claims, barks relentlessly all day when The Old Man is alone, drives him up a wall. 

          “Well,” Sai responds mildly, “perhaps your neighbors leave her alone all day as well. Perhaps she is as lonely as you.”

     The Old Man scoffs. “I am not lonely,” he grumbles, gnarled hands curled tightly around the half-filled glass resting in his lap. “I am not lonely,” he insists again, louder this time, and he continues, “I want you to kill the dog, please.” 

     Sai’s expression does not flicker because he feels nothing, but he has to admit to himself that he doesn’t see much sense in the request. “You want me to kill the dog,” he responds flatly, crossing his arms when The Old Man nods at him with wide eyes. “Won’t your neighbors be upset if their dog dies?” 

     Shaking his head hard enough to nearly spill his water, The Old Man stares up at him with wide eyes. “No, no,” he insists, pointing a jagged finger at the wall to indicate which neighbor it is. “They leave her out all day and night! But she only barks when I am alone and she is alone. She barks and barks and barks, rain or shine. If you love a creature you do not leave it out at all hours in all weather, no? You care for it. She is just a thing to them.”

          Sai does not want to kill the dog. 

     He tilts his head and gives The Old Man a vague answer about seeing if he could talk to the neighbors, ask them to chain her elsewhere or perhaps bring her inside, and The Old Man reluctantly agrees that perhaps this is the less contentious solution. Sai then tells him he will be going on an assignment and won’t be in the village for the next few weeks, but he will see The Old Man when he returns. He slips out of the open front door before he can hear the grumbled response. 

          The Neighbor’s Dog is standing in the next yard behind the slatted fence at the very end of her chain, staring at The Old Man’s house when Sai emerges, just like she always is when he comes by. He has never thought it strange. When he approaches the fence and leans his arms against the warm metal and peers down at her, she turns her gaze slowly from the house to him, and it strikes Sai as ... uncanny, somehow. It strikes Sai that before now, he has never seen her move at all. 

     “Hello,” he greets blithely, defaulting to something familiar in an attempt to settle the strange feeling shifting within him. The Neighbor’s Dog drops her head and her tail and takes four steps back until she is settled on the neighbors’ front porch. “Oh, you don’t have to be afraid,” Sai says, hopping easily over the fence and landing in a crouch in the grass. “I just want to know why you bark all the time-- I will not hurt you.” 

     The Neighbor’s Dog creeps forward when he holds out a hand for her to sniff, her steps silent in the grass beneath her paws. She’s cautious, but she doesn’t growl or bare her teeth when he settles his palm atop her head and strokes her ears. They’re silk-soft against his two bare fingers, enough so that he almost wants to take his glove off and repeat the motion. They lock eyes when he draws his hand away. 

          Suddenly, he knows. 

     It’s like his skull has been cracked open and his brain has been half scooped out and replaced with something else and then his head was shaken until the original matter is indistinguishable from the new. Though he’s dizzy with it, he doesn’t reel or flinch back from her because such an instinct was trained out of him long ago. He doesn’t know exactly what he knows but he knows this: something is Wrong. The Old Man is in danger, and the golden-eyed mutt next door knows the truth. 

          “Oh,” he says. “I... What should I do?” 

     He isn’t sure there’s a protocol for reporting a danger to an old man just because a dog told you it existed. She isn’t even a ninken, she’s... Well, not normal. But she doesn’t talk. She doesn’t respond to his question, either, just slinks back to the front door and lays down on the porch with a long, canine sigh. Sai sits for a moment and he tries to pick apart the feeling but he can’t parse anything from it and it makes him nauseous so he takes the feeling and he puts it in a box and shelves it. “Okay,” he says, resolving to deal with this when he gets back from his mission, “okay.” 

     Sai goes home and he packs and, predictably, he almost dies multiple times on that assignment, like he always does with team seven. All manner of things crawl about in his feverish dreams and they whisper things he cannot hear or understand, like he’s under water or perhaps they are, and when he sits around the fire at night and Sakura’s hands rest warm and glowing green on his shoulder he starts to ask her what he should to about The Old Man and The Neighbor’s Dog, but there are bags under her eyes and his tongue doesn’t want to cooperate with him long enough to explain, so he just goes to bed. 

     And when he gets back to the village, he goes to see The Old Man in the middle of the afternoon at the usual time despite the fact that he is not training with team seven that day. The Old Man is sitting at the door like he always is, but his skin is pale and waxy and there are deep bags under his eyes and his hands tremble like leaves in the wind. Sai stands on the top step and stares for a long time before The Old Man speaks.

     “She’s dead,” he starts. Sai’s gaze turns to the empty yard, and then back to him. He wheels himself further into the house, and Sai follows. Gets him a glass of water. Stands in the doorway of his kitchen and wonders if the man ever goes outside. After an eternity The Old Man continues, “she started barking more often after you left-- when everyone was here, when the neighbors were home. Her barks... sounded like speech, to me, so familiar they were. Is that crazy?” 

     “The human mind can find patterns in almost anything,” Sai replies automatically, instead of asking what the dog told him. “Whether there is a pattern to find or not. We seek them out because we find them comforting.” The Old Man’s shoulders slump and he nods weakly, turning to look at the photos on the wall with a troubled expression. Sai opens his mouth and blurts, “I think you might be in danger--”

          “I am tired,” The Old Man interrupts him abruptly. “I am old and I am tired, young man. Why don’t you go home?” 

     Sai pauses, tilts his head, and then nods in acquiescence. He turns and slips out the door, closing it softly behind himself, and he stands in front of the neighbor’s house staring at the grass in their yard with his arms on the bars of the fence. He stands there until the sun starts to set and the air cools and the neighbors come home, and when he sees them he smiles politely and he greets, “Hello.” It rings hollow, but even though the man and the woman exchange glances he continues. “I was wondering-- Well, I usually see a dog here? What happened to her?” 

     The pair exchanges a glance, and the woman sighs sadly: “She got rabies or something... started getting all crazy and aggressive, wouldn’t stop barking and growling, all the time. We had to put her down.” Sai nods once, curtly, and bids them an insincere goodnight. He goes home. 

     The Old Man is dead within the week, he hears. Accidentally wheeled himself down the steep stairs outside of his front door he never left the confines of and crushed himself under his chair. A tragic accident. Sai stands in front of the house exactly once on the way back from the training ground and he peers in the windows like he might learn something, but there’s nothing to see at all. There is no movement inside-- the people are still gone from it during the day, and there is no one to beckon him inside and ask him for water. Sai doesn’t know what to... do. Who to tell, or how to tell it.

          So he goes home, and he doesn’t take the long way back from the training grounds anymore. 

[streetsofsecrets-a]

                                                LOVE TKO

      Leone Impellizzeri was both the shortest man Delores knew as well as the most vulgar. In another world, Delores would have avoided him at all costs, for his hair-trigger temper and quick hands made her catch her breath and caused her shoulders to hitch. But, in this world Mr. Impellizzeri was unfortunately her Boss.

Delores was navigated to him by Giovanni, as she needed to not only take care of her grandfather (gently threading on the line between granddaughter and nurse) but also provide for him - consequently, provide for herself. It was not in Delores’ desire to work at a small den where Italian men congregated. It was also not in Mr. Impellizzeri's desire to have her black face greeting those who entered his establishment. 

His clear hesitance made Delores think just how ridiculous prejudice was. This was not a five star restaurant, not even a Disco, just a “club” that looked no different than any other corner shop in Brooklyn. Why, to strictly judge the exterior even brought the local deli to mind. Potentially being declined by Mr. Impellizzerri would have left Delores with no wounded pride. In fact, she would have selfishly felt gratitude. 

Alas, Giovanni continued promising Leone she was a, “good kid.” In all the years he had known her, Amos never lifted a hand to keep her in her place. Granddaddy’s dearest companion had nothing but the kindest things to say about her, and due to this, she was welcomed. But not with open arms. 

It took time to trust her, Delores knew it. White skepticism was the same wherever she went. From the time her Grandfather shakily walked up and down the concrete steps of their stoop to the time he was developing bedsores from the confinement to his mattress, Mr. Impellizzeri gradually changed.

The bonuses he began giving were not out of fondness, but rather the fact she, “didn’t tell her friends about the hip, hot spot.” There were many ways to interpret this, and although mildly offended, Delores asked no questions. By the time Granddaddy passed on, she was kept at the New Prize Social Club as someone cherished. 

Men took in her petite height and slender legs with zeal and benevolence. Dino Vaccaro was even taken to calling her baby. Sometimes babydoll. Delores supposed it was fine so long as his hands never ‘accidentally’ grazed her back for too long. His gaze never made her feel nauseous - she even believed although he was older than her (and young enough to be Leo's son - eldest son) Dino was quite handsome. 

In the grace of time, Delores reached the point where she also knew more about what went on in the Impellizzeri family home than she cared to. Like how Leone's daughter Angela was ‘in need’ of a friend like her. Eventually, it became clear to Delores that Angela was an aimless young woman. ‘Spoiled’ Grandaddy would surely say..

In spite of Leone’s warmth, the bonuses, and even the familiarity of the locals, there was little Delores enjoyed about New Prize. 

“Sally!” Leone’s hands clapped in rapid succession, “s’time for you’se to hit the road!”

 Winston’s dear friend made the place even more of an area where she, arguably, felt comfortable. The others did not treat him with the same serene indifference as she did, though. Often, Salvatore was treated to sneers and jeers from the scowling mouths elders, but Delores came to the conclusion he was tolerated because Giovanni shaped him into the finest Boxer in Bensonhurst. These days, she was often hearing how he pummeled another man from Queens (Italian, of course). A prized boxer of Astoria, she believes.

There was no doubt in her mind the sport was tied to a mafia related matter. The longer she stayed, the more she could see the subtleties, codes, gestures. However, all the boxers of Brooklyn’s Italian community were honored and celebrated here, and Delores came to the conclusion that across New York, Dons from different families bet on these young men.  

Either way, Salvatore's prowess meant he got a pass wherever he went. No longer did Giovanni have to have him on a leash, playing the role of caretaker. Delores saw some had difficulty with this. Mr. Impellizzeri had difficulty with this.  

“Y’know, you’re missin’ out on good customer service by closin’ this early!” as Salvatore made his reply, Delores scoffed below her breath. 10 PM was not early by any means. “It’s around this time when the real introspective hours kick in! Where’s a guy supposed t’think at?” he went on to ask. 

“I don’t care! You can get lost in your thoughts in a car, in a taxi! Y’just gotta get the hell outta here! Shop’s closed, Sal!” 

Salvatore rose both his body and hands, showing he desired no fight the older man. Even if he was 5’4. Even if he would have easily won. Watching him shove his hands into his pockets, Delores could only think of how she hated this hour. Particularly on nights like this when she was in charge of closing. Each time she would go into the night, praying she would make it back to Bed-Stuy alive. At this point, she prayed so much she should have actively attended Sunday Services.

“Angie’s datin’ a guy like that.”

“Is she?”

From the bar’s warmth to the cold air of the November night, Mr. Impellizzeri’s conversation traveled with them. To a degree, Delores felt resentment. How could he speak with her so attentively and then not even have enough kindness in him to wait with her for the bus?

“Can’t stand him,” he shakes his head, “I warned her about that guy, but she wouldn’t listen, and now what's happened? She has a baby. I don't fault the kid for resenting or nothin' but...oh madonna - this coulda all been avoided. You’d listen to your grandfather if he said the man you brought him was no good, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” She means, she supposes so. 

All the men in her life (or boys, if she counts the childhood infatuation held for Thomas Reed and Derrick Callaghan) were temporary. At the same time, she is aware none of them would have earned Granddaddy’s approval. They would have labels like buffoons or, had all of these attributes reduced to 'trifling.' To just briefly think of all that could have been if she were more open with her feelings, Delores understood her past distance. She was the sort of young girl who would think of how she and her lover’s bed sheets would look in their future home, but never ever would a name be mentioned in Granddaddy’s midst. 

“You’re such a good kid, Dolly.” 

She is twenty-one. 

“Stay safe.” Leone’s hand lingered over her own. There was affection in the gesture. Almost felt paternal. But that was not why Delores smiled, no. Thinking of how he signed her paycheck was the only reason she wore a tight smile, from the time his fingers grazed over her own to the time she walked onward the beam was no more. 

There was nothing to smile about as she walked through the cold. The dark cold. Where any man could be watching her. Where any man could emerge from the shadows and do more than steal her new purse. Instinctively, her grip on the dark leather strap tightened. She would not make the same mistake twice.

 Stay safe, the bitterness that bubbled in her stomach rose to her chest, leaving her lips as a spiteful whisper: “keep me safe….” 

It baffled Salvatore how frequently their paths crossed. Sure, the two of them were acquainted as - practical children, but even at the age of twelve Delores seemed to have the makings of one of those women. One of those women who would one day live far, far from Brooklyn. She would be married to a smart man who made his living through keeping people out of jail, if not pulling bullets out of bodies. They made good money; he could see her marrying into money. It was believed that either her grandfather would have financed her departure from the restless city or, his death was going to get her into motion. In the end she remained in the ‘ancient’ brownstone. Not only getting money from Brooklyn’s wise guys, but also working a double shift as Winston’s maid. If Salvatore did not see Delores at New Prize, cleaning and taking orders, then it was in her cousin’s apartment: fixing dinner and running a bath for little Naomi. 

Winston saw the way he would look at her as she tended to his daughter. Eyelids heavy, a ghost of a smile on his lips. It was as though he could just read Salvatore’s filthy mind. Seeing the multiple ideas of how he considered approaching her, touching her. It took no time for Winston to voice how he did not want him talking to her. 

It was an unusual demand. The two of them shared things since they were boys. Candy, money, even women once they came of age. But his cousin? She was off limits. 

It somewhat brought to mind how their grandfather would always keep her out of sight. Then, Sal guesses, the old man basically trained her on what to do when men were around. Because one sight of him? She would make herself scarce and swiftly, at that. Obviously not running, but obviously not wanting to be in his sights. Salvatore could not deny to himself that this is what steadily drew out his interest.

What made her so different to hide away? He asked himself this question progressively more these days. What made her more pure than other women? Supposedly pure - definitely pure. The concept of a single that woman so off-limits, like a princess, would bring an unbearable friction in his jeans on some days. He was capable of playing with a few fantasizes, stroking himself as if the woman he desired was filling him with divine satisfaction, coming and then moving on with life. But Delores just had to be in his spaces, and that made things different.

So tonight, he was throwing all loyalty to Winston out the window. Those pact-sealing handshakes they did at sixteen were but a thing of the past as Salvatore told himself, with certainty and more than that, determination, he was going to talk to Delores Littlejohn tonight. Ideally, it was going to be as old man Leo bid her goodbye, but he had to stand around outside just talking about whatever. Salvatore would not put it past him to have the desire in taking her on his arm. He would be quoting Frank Sinatra, telling Dolly how she made him feel so young.

That is, if another man didn’t get at her first. Dino most definitely had a sweet spot for her. Nevermind the fact he had a wife at home and a mistress five blocks down down the road: Dino had nothing but sweet words for the most unique looking woman in the bar. Whether Delores knew it or not, she was his sweetie, his honey, his babydoll. All of these names were uttered to Salvatore and other men, his fondness for her clear as day. When she approached, he hid his feelings. Mostly. The way ‘doll’ rolled off his tongue with such simplicity, one would think it was just a quirk of his speech. 

Dino and Leo could fawn over her all they wanted, but Salvatore was determined to speak first. Really speak beyond a ‘hi, how ya doin’ and other questions that did not travel far.

He pressed his foot on the pedal, moving down the dark street slow and smooth. Maybe old man Leo didn’t have a thing for her, Sal considered it. What sort of man would leave a woman out here like this? In November, 6 PM seemed like 10 PM and 10 PM seemed like 1 AM. 

“Hey,” how she jumped at his voice, the lights of his car, him. It did not matter he leaned out the window with friendliness in his smile. “Did I scare you Dolly?” He couldn’t help but laugh at her newfound stiffness.

Her brow arches, she sneers as if he committed a grave offense: “yes!”

“Hey, what’re y’so mad about? I wasn’t tryin’ to!” 

Silence emerged as Delores took the moment to breathe, considering what sort of answer to give. “I’m sorry for yelling at you...but you still snuck up on me.” 

Sal swore she rolled her eyes while turning her head. Rather than being embittered, he cannot recall ever seeing a woman do that so damn near graceful.

“How?” persistent, he asks this. Ready to point out he was not on foot, he did not tap her shoulder, grinning over her shoulder like some nightstalking creep. Delores did not answer. Hand tighter on her purse, she took mighty strides. 

Salvatore had to admit, the years shifted the way Delores’ demeanor was conveyed. No longer did she seem like a sixty-seven year old woman trapped in a youthful body, her ways somehow became not ‘old’ but ‘elegant.’ As though she were a woman of class, pride, all that other good stuff. The maturity of her face also brought fascination. Fascination she and Winston just about shared the same, thin almond-shaped eyes that she somehow made gorgeous. He also felt there was there was something “royal” within her smooth jawline, giving her chin extra leverage to jut and show disdain for her surroundings. Sometimes, like tonight, she let strands of her ebony hair dangle from her updo with red lipstick and small diamonds that dangled from her earlobes. She looked good. Too good for New Prize. She needed to be a hostess in - Sal supposed, Manhattan. A nice place in Manhattan where all the rich people went to eat. Even though there was an ‘old’ element to her - it was not like a decrepit old hag. He would compare her to a glamorous woman from the 50s, with traditional values and all of that.

It hit Sal like lightning - this is why Dino’s old ass was enchanted with her.

“Are you mad at me?” He grins, hand on the wheel. 

“Please leave me alone.”

“Look, I’m not talkin’ to you because I’m tryna be a creep. I wanted to know if y’wanted a ride home!” 

Delores shot him a look, but the price of that was having to unforunately bask in his stupid smile. “You were going to drive to Bed-Stuy?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“It’s a thirty-minute drive.” She snaps without raising her voice.

“Eh, old man Leo was right, car rides are best to think in.”

She shakes her head, “oh, please.” 

“Y’know…” Sal removed his foot from the pedal, “It’s supposed t’snow tonight. How long does the bus take t’come?” “...it varies.” 

“Why do you wanna take a chance freezing out there when it’s warm in here?” Now she was looking at him as if trying to solve a puzzle - one she was on the verge of understanding. It did not bother him. He remained chipper, in high-spirits: “c’mon!”

With a huff, Delores begrudgingly accepted he had a point. Her body may have been warm as she donned her coat, but that article was not enough to prevent the sting of her fingers or how cold her nose and cheeks were becoming. Salvatore was not bothered by this silence, she could tell from the way he continued smiling. Her eyes flickered, observing how his eyebrows were so thick and dark, just perfectly hanging over his equally dark squinted eyes. Some time ago, Delores came to the conclusion that brown eyes possessed a warmth that could not be found in icy blues. 

She felt a flutter in her abdomen. It was not anxiety - just a light, thrilled flutter. It was as if her body was telling her, take this adventure. You know Salvatore.  He was capable of violence and mischief, yes. But weren’t all men capable of heinous acts? 

She opened the door.  “Thank you…” she muttered while asking herself, why did she listen to her body? What could she and Winston’s friend possibly talk about during a thirty minute drive? 

“Why didja act like I was going to kidnap you?”

“Because you can’t trust men.”

“How long have you known me, Dolly? I forgot.”

“I don’t know you.” She could not control her tongue the moment she heard his question, “I could recognize your face in a crowd, but your face is the only way I know you. You’re my cousin’s friend, not mine.”

She watched Salvatore make a series of expressions. Surprised, bewildered - the nothing. Though she huffed, embarrassment washed over her. A nagging thought entered her head of how Salvatore would take his foot off the pedal, halting the car once more and tell her to wait for the bus. Not all men are lecherous, she tells herself. Her personal bad experiences did not have a chance of being repeated time after time. Again, she told herself she knew this man she was now sitting beside. It was why she was in here.

“I wouldn’t do anything to you.” Finally, he speaks. Gentle, not offended. For that Delores feels relief.

“I know.” She wants to possess the same tone, “I was just saying that as a woman I have to be careful.” 

“Wanna know somebody you shouldn’t ever accept a ride home from?”

“Who?”

“Mikey Amuso!”

“What’s so bad about him?”

“Well, not only did he kill his brother - I mean, supposedly firin’ a gun at his head - but he’s been using the same tactics to pick up girls since 8th grade!”

“What are those tactics?” Fingers gently rub against the smooth leather of her purse. 

“I can’t say, Dolly!”

She squints, concerned. “...they’re that bad?”

“I want you to think of a guy who’s only consumed with gaining one thing no matter what. No matter how dumb or crazy it sounds. That’s Mikey.”

“Oh.”

“You think I’m that bad, Dolly?”

“No -” did she make him sound that bad? “I’ve seen the way you treat Naomi. Some men can’t be trusted with children - but you’re sweet to her. She thinks you’re her uncle...”

“I’m her white uncle!” When Sal beams with pride, Delores holds back her smile. “But no, really, I love that kid. I hope things get straightened out with her ma and Winston soon. I don’t think kids need t’grow up without their mothers in the picture.”

Suddenly, it was as if Salvatore had the key and unlocked something in her: she wants to talk about her past. She wants to talk about women who had to be her maternal figures, but in reality were incapable of having the same warmth and love as a mother. What she says? “...I don’t think so, too.” Her stomach growled, she shifted in shame.

“You hungry?” How she hoped Salvatore didn’t hear her body confess its desire for a warm meal. 

“No.” How she could not believe her body betrayed her twice in one night.

“C’mon Dolly, what’re you bein’ shy for?”

“I'm not shy.” There she goes, Sal thinks, with that mighty tilt of her chin. “I can wait until I get home. That’s all.”

“Okay, so I’m supposed to drive a starving woman directly from Bensonhurst to Bed-Stuy?”

The thought of eating was appealing. However, caught in a mentality that belonged to her sixteen year old self: Delores labeled such an outing as forbidden. There was no one to scold her for arriving home perhaps twenty minutes late - additionally, there was no chance her grandfather’s ghost would appear to chastise her, calling her all sorts of vile, wretched names. But, Delores abruptly considered that maybe it was not a fear of doing the unusual that kept her in a rejective state. 

Perhaps it was that crush on Salvatore she had as a mere girl, resurfacing once more. Yes, with more thought she could not deny it felt like the old crush that manifested itself as fear and intimidation was reintroducing itself tonight. As a result, Delores was caught between the frightening idea of being alone with him and caught in the throes of excitement at the very matter he was willing to do something so kind.

“I’m fine,” still ever the lady, she says this. 

“Dolly, it’ll be my treat. If you wanna pay me back you can um...tell Leo to be nicer to me! Remind him that I’m the best Boxer in that place and he should give respect to my local contributions to the community!”

Delores wants to smile. She wants to smile and giggle at how seriously Sal took this idea. Not only that, but the idea of  Mr. Impellizzeri being genuinely mindful and kind was laughable on its own. Trying to have control of whether the corners of her lips upturned or not, Delores presses her thighs close together. What she does allow is for her voice to hold clear charm: “I can do that for you, Sal.”

“You can!?”

A laugh nearly tumbles out of her lips. Sheepish, she gazes out the window. Observing all the bypassing buildings, counting each streetlight that guides them, “I can!” 

Delores wasn’t sure if it was because Salvatore was Italian, or if she (despite her life and its teachings) was a child at heart. But, rolling through her mind was the thought of two dogs sharing a spaghetti kiss. Salvatore was rough, yet good-natured like Tramp. Delores - focused on the cold wind hitting at her neck and the stinging her ears instead of directly associating herself with a prim and proper cocker spaniel. 

It was no restaurant Sal parked at, or a building that looked particularly Italian with neither name nor color scheme. It was what Delores deemed ‘American.’ An all-American diner. 

“Ever been here before?”

“I’ve seen it,” when going to work, she does not add. For some reason this made Sal cackle.

“You’ve seen it?” 

She brings her lips out into a pout. One small and subtle, undermined with her investigative gaze, but it was a pout all the same.  “Yes…” What had been so funny to reduce Salvatore to fits of laughter?

“Hey Sal,” when a unibrowed man greets him with the casual lift of his hand, Delores wondered how often Sal came here. It must have been frequently. 

“Hey, got a free table?”

“What? You’re too good to sit at the bar tonight? What’s goin’ on with you?”

“Nothin’s goin’ on with me! What’s goin’ on with you?”

As the two men bantered on, Delores found herself thoughtlessly holding her hands together. Never had she sat in an all-night diner before. She thinks of a painting - Nighthawks, where three customers sat at the desolate bar in the night. Granted, there was a surprising amount of people here, but the structure of the building was still the same in her eyes.  

Delores snapped out of her thoughts, managing to catch how Sal wagged his finger for her to come and follow him.

“Hold it.” The same man who spoke to Sal outstretched his hand. For Salvatore, it was a greeting, for Delores it was break to stop. “I gotta seat you first.”

“No Adriano, she’s with me.” Sal swiftly says. 

Delores caught how the realization settled on the busboy’s face before his apology came. She only brought herself to nod, following behind Salvatore feeling more glum than she cared to admit. It was not as though they were actually on a date, she thought. Sobered from her fleeting infatuation, Delores even became keenly aware the two of them hardly looked like they came from the same area. Salvatore had the privilege of being unphased, she assumed. Watching as he slid into the booth as if he had done so a million times. Delores, meanwhile moved almost refined. Poised.

“Get whatever you want,” he says, “as much as you want.”

“What are you getting?”

“What am I getting?” He repeats, with soft (mocking) surprise. “I’m getting a hamburger.”

“Oh…”

Was she disappointed? “We can go somewhere else if y’don’t like what you see,” unmoved, he briskly rose and lowered his shoulders.

“Salvatore.” Then, she looked at him. Not in a serious way, instead it was almost as if she was pleading in desperation. Saying with her eyes, ‘please, stop being so kind to me, you’ve done enough tonight.’ And if he continued on, she would what? Burst from his gestures?“We don’t have to do that...”

“Well,” he spins the ketchup bottle, “whaddya want to eat?” 

Did she ever make her own decisions? Salvatore wondered as she grew even more flushed, clearly overwhelmed. Ironically, it made Salvatore want to rattle off with listing some of the best meals this place had to offer. The idea maybe she had never eaten in front of a man - or, that there could have existed invisible rules of what one could and could not eat when among a man, never crossed his mind.

“I would like steak…”

“I think I want steak too!”

With a nod, she let her teeth rest against her bottom lip. As if there were nothing better to do, she looked to the window. Promised snow had yet to come. If one did not look outside - their eyes truly trained on the atmosphere, then they would have missed the how specks of white fell from the dark sky. 

Delores had a ribeye steak, well done. She also took a salad. Salvatore wanted what she was having, minus the salad. Instead, he treated himself to golden fries that had both plenty of crunch and salt. As time passed, Delores would find herself relieved at how Sal knew how to keep the conversation going. Between telling the waiter - Adriano, their desired meals, and awaiting them, he talked and talked and talked. His demeanor remained comfortable enough to bring herself to speak and contribute to the conversation.

“--I think you know more Italian than me, Dolly.”

“No I don’t,” toying with her tomato, she had far too much humility to even playfully accept her grasp on the language may have been superior. “It’s only a handful of phrases.”

“Look, y’just told me you was roommates with some Italian girl at your High School, and that y’even spent a weekend with her family! Then, you grew up around Giovanni - and y’even work Leo now! You know more than you think y’do!” 

Bashful, honest, she shakes her head. “I don’t even get the chance to speak it,” she insists, “I just listen, and I make connections.” 

“Well, y’know more than me-” when she shoots a stern gaze, he takes back his words: “-the same as I do.” He took back his words, somewhat. “Let me list off some words and you can tell me if you know ‘em or not - and don’t lie Dolly, be honest.”

“I will!”

“Okay…” he thinks, “Orrioppo!”

“Move faster?”

Hurry up was correct, but. He would not hold it against her. “Yeah, that’s right. Uh, Goombah!”

“Man.” Leone had used it when approaching other males, Granddaddy also used it - though with sneers. Due to this, Delores could not help but believe it was derogatory as a little girl. For all she knows, it still may be.

“Wazza mara you?”

“Hm?”

“I said, Wazza mara you?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“Dolly! What’s the matter with you?”

“Oh…” she got it, finally. “Oh!” 

He thought that what Delores would do upon realizing was smile, all hesitant and mousy. Or she would shake her head at him, he noticed enjoyed doing that. What happened was unexpected: Delores was laughing. But it was not free, no, within the seconds she realized it would not stop, she brought up her hand to stifle herself. 

“Hey! What’re you doin’ that for?”

She looked unable to understand, “what am I doing?” 

“Coverin’ your face! You have a pretty smile. What do you wanna hide it for?”

“I…” surely, if she had anything in her mouth she would have choked. “...I just don’t want to disrupt anyone…” “Who cares about them?” His apathetic shrug left her breathless. “Huh? Who cares!” She felt the need to avert her eyes as his smile grew.  He lifted his hand, having not one, but two fingers pointed at her, “that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile. Ever. In my life.”

 She could not think of any appropriate way to reply. ‘I’ll smile more?,’ ‘I’m happy you think my smile is nice?’ there was just no way to do it without making some sort of mistake. Thus, as her last resort, Delores looked to the window only to grow surprised. Snow, plenty of snow was falling across Bensonhurst, “Oh look, Salvatore!” 

Sal vah tore! His name sounded different when she was surprised, “it’s snowing!” 

Though he lifted his heavy eyebrows, it did not interest him. He was grateful for the amount of faces he got her to make tonight, even if they were not from toe curling pleasure. The taboo nature of her remained lost on him, however he was willing to create more moments like this. All to get inside her, figure out what she was about when domineering men were not around. 

Winston was going to be pissed. But he could not have thrown their whole friendship away. Salvatore figures it could have been worse for Winston: his cousin could be getting courted by a stranger. A greedy guy like Dino.

“Yeah!” He says for her, “it’s a November miracle!” 

[gimmesumsuga]

Nine Months (2)

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (fluff)

Warnings: Pregnancy, Birth, and all the icky bodily fluids that come along with it.

Summary: Your due date has come and gone. Namjoon’s excited and you’re uncomfortable, but you’re both equally as impatient to meet your little girl.

Word count: 2.5k

This will be a series of drabbles I intend to post over the next few days, detailing the labour, birth, and early postnatal period. Expect a lot of fluff ♡♡

Part One / Part Two / Part Three 

“Ok, so.”  Namjoon’s head pops around the bathroom door, long fingers curled around the door frame as he watches you change your sanitary pad, disgust written all over your face.  As soon as you hear his voice your head snaps up, hands stilling.

“JOON! Get out!”  He rolls his eyes but at your continued glare he dutifully covers them with a hand, hiding you from his sight so you can carry on cleaning yourself up.  

“You do realise I’m gonna be seeing much grosser stuff than this over the next 24 hours, right?”  

“Yeah well, let’s try not to peak too soon,” you mutter, throwing the sopping wet pad into the bin, “Anyway, what did they say?”  Another twinge of pain gnaws at your lower abdominals as you move around, putting on a new pair of underwear and some soft, stretchy sweats.  Is it supposed to just keep coming out like this?  It’s never-ending.

“They said to make sure she keeps moving, make sure the water stays clear, and call them back when your contractions start,” Namjoon recites verbatim, and you can see him peeping at your through his fingers before he lowers his hand back down to his side once you’re decent.  “Or else in 24 hours, whichever comes first.”  

“Great, ok.”  You give a short sharp nod as he approaches you across the tile, arms already stretched out wide.  You’re starting to feel slightly nauseous, and something tells you it’s more to do with nerves than general pregnancy-induced queasiness this time around.  

Namjoon wraps his arms around you from the side, placing a kiss against your temple as he rubs reassuringly at your stomach.  He’s always been able to read you like a book; easily identifying  your anxiety from the way you’re chewing at the inside of your cheek, frowning hard.  

“They also said to avoid anything that’d risk introducing infection,” he says into your hair, rocking the two of you gently side to side.  

“Like what?” you query, placing your hands onto the arm that’s wrapped around you and tilting your head to look up at him.  

“Like… using those funky strawberry scented bath bombs you like.”  You ‘hmm’ in agreement, rubbing your thumbs over his arm as you look at your reflections in the bathroom mirror.  Namjoon looks gorgeous, as always, his white t-shirt setting off his tan skin just so, cheeks dimpling as he catches you look and gazes back, leaning his head on yours.  “Sex is off the table too, apparently,”  he adds, smile turning cheeky whilst yours completely disappears.  

“Seriously?” you choke, horrified at the mere prospect, “Are you really telling me that there’s people out there that’d think sex was a good idea right now?”  Namjoon just laughs, leaning in to kiss your cheek and then releasing you from his grasp as you try to forget it was ever mentioned.  

“C’mon.”  He walks out of the bathroom, beckoning you after him, and when you finally get back into the living - you’d had to stop along the way because of that damn cramping in your stomach - you find that Namjoon had apparently been very productive during the time he’d spent on the phone.

He’s switched off the television and turned all the lights down soft and low, your favourite chill out tunes playing quietly from the mp3 player stand.   The whole room is swathed in the glow of lamplight, a little bottle of massage oil waiting on the coffee table.  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Namjoon was trying to seduce you.

“I thought you said sex was off the table?” you ask with a smirk, one eyebrow raised.  He chuckles softly, grabbing your luminous purple birthing ball from where it’d been gathering dust in the corner and placing it in front of the sofa.  He sits himself behind it, a leg either side, and then pats it in invitation.  

“It’s all oxytocin, baby,” Namjoon tells you as he helps you ease yourself onto the ball and get your balance, “Making a baby, having a baby...  it’s all the same hormones that are involved, and they all work better with the lights down low.”  

“I knew it was a mistake for you to read all those birthing books,” you say right before letting a groan inadvertently slip as Namjoon starts to massage your lower back right where it aches the most, the scent of mandarin filling the air.  

From the moment you’d discovered you were pregnant Namjoon had started digesting every single titbit of knowledge he could find about pregnancy, labour, birth and babies.  There’s not a single question you’ve asked along the way that he couldn’t answer, and whilst it can sometimes be mildly irritating - anyone would think it was him having to give birth - it’s also been very reassuring to have your own pocket encyclopedia on hand.  Especially when that encyclopedia happens to be very skilled with his hands.  

Another bout of cramping comes and goes, but bouncing gently on your ball while Namjoon rubs your back really seems to help.  If this is what labour’s like, then this will be a breeze!  

“Hmm,” you sigh happily, letting your head tilt to the side and your eyes closed, “I could get used to this.”  

Oh.

Oh you were so tragically mistaken.  

What had started out as a bit of general discomfort - a mild tightening of your stomach every ten minutes or so that was pretty manageable with Namjoon’s encouragement - has all too quickly ramped up into something infinitely more intense.  It’s coming every three minutes now, taking away your ability to speak for almost a full minute as your bump turns rock hard.   Every contraction is like a wave, rising to a peak and then receding again just as quickly as it came, leaving you slightly breathless in their wake.

You wish you could go back in time and smack past-you in the face for being so blasé about this whole thing.  In fact, if time travel were an option you might just go back and never get pregnant in the first place.  

Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.  

“Do you want to get back in the bath?”  Namjoon offers, trailing around after you as you pace the living room restlessly.   You know he’s starting to feel out of his depth - you can tell by the way he’s wringing his hands when he thinks you’re not looking - and honestly you can’t blame him.  Neither of you anticipated just how intense this might be, and all the book knowledge in the world hasn’t helped him prepare for raw reality of it.  

“No, Namjoon, I don’t want to get back in the fucking bath,” you snap, stopping at the back of the sofa and bracing yourself on it as you feel another contraction brewing.  You shouldn’t snap at him really - Namjoon’s trying his best and you know you’re being a bitch.  A nice warm bath might have helped a couple of hours ago but you’re a bit beyond that now.   

Despite having had his head bitten off Namjoon is right there with you through it, rubbing your back firmly as you try your best to breathe steadily, eyes closed, fingertips digging into the sofa cushions.  Once it’s faded you’re suddenly aware of tears leaking down your cheeks, and as soon as you can straighten yourself again you’re turning around to face your husband and wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face in his chest.  

“Can you call the hospital again, please Joonie?” you ask quietly, rubbing your tears on his t-shirt and then peeking up at him, anger and upset fading almost as rapidly as your contractions.  God, you really are all over the place right now, aren’t you?  “I don’t think I can manage anymore.”  It’s been a good few hours since your last phone call, so you feel as though you’ve given it your best shot.  If it’s too early the midwives can always send you home, anyway; though you think you might cry again if they do.  

Namjoon nods almost instantly, looking a little relieved as you slip out of his arms to begin pacing once more.  It feels better to keep moving; sitting is unbearable - lying down a fate worse than death.  You listen to Namjoon explaining everything over the phone, calmly and thoroughly answering each question the person on the other end might have, and though you’re in pain you still feel a little swell of pride right in the centre of your chest as he speaks.  

You couldn’t have hoped to ever have a better husband than him.  Sure, he might burn the dinner and break almost everything he touches - he’s also late a lot of the time, and his fashion sense is questionable at the best - but no one could ever be more supportive, more loving than Namjoon.  You’re fairly certain he’d tear off his own arm and give it to you if he thought it would make you happy.  

“Ok,” he says as he disconnects the call, stuffing his phone in his back pocket and then running his hand briefly through his hair, “I’ll grab the bags and then we’ll head out.”  

Oh god, does he really intend to be the one who drives?

“Call Yoongi.”  He stops halfway across the room, turning back to you with his mouth slightly agape.  

“Baby, it’s 4am-”

“I don’t really give a shit, Joon,” you interrupt through gritted teeth, another contraction brewing, “He volunteered his services, day or night, he knew the risks.”  

“But I can-”

“Namjoon you’ve had your license for two months.  You bunny hop at the best of times, especially when you’re nervous, and me yelling at you from the passenger seat isn’t going to help anything.  And I will yell, we both know it.”  You say this in one big rush, leaning over the back of the sofa with one hand on your stomach, trying to get all the words out before you’re rendered speechless again.  “Call.  Yoongi.”    

You see Namjoon hesitate for just a second, eyes fleeting back and forth between your own before he succumbs and reaches back into his pocket for his phone with a sigh, relenting.  He might not be on the receiving end of any harsh words from you, but you’ve no doubt he’ll be getting some from Yoongi once he realises what time it is, and Namjoon doesn’t look too enthusiastic about it.  

Still, poor timing on your behalf or not, Yoongi manages to turn up outside your apartment not twenty minutes later.  He honks the horn to alert you to his arrival and leaves the engine running - unconcerned with what the neighbours might say - and once Namjoon has helped you hobble down to the car with bags in hand, Yoongi is waiting in the driver’s seat with a smirk on his face and bags under his eyes.  

“You’re not gonna go leaking all over the seats are you?”  he asks, voice croaking as he turns to look at you over his shoulder, one hand still on the steering wheel, “I just had this cleaned.”  You give him a withering glare whilst Namjoon helps you in, one that Yoongi just grins at in reply.  With much grumbling you allow your husband to put on your seatbelt, already horrifically uncomfortable from just having to sit down and grimacing as Namjoon takes his place next to you, slamming the car door behind him with a thud.  

Yoongi pulls away from the curb almost immediately, making you groan in pain as the car lurches.  

“Can you go a bit faster, hyung?” Namjoon asks his friend, mistaking your general groaning for another contraction.

“No, don’t!” you disagree quickly, Namjoon’s head snapping round to face you with a frown, “Just… smoothly, please.”  Yoongi gives you a little nod in the rearview mirror and you smile back at him weakly, leaning into Namjoon when he puts his arm around your waist and kisses the top of your head.  

“Are you ok?” he asks, peering down at your tenderly.  He places one hand on top of yours atop of your bump and rubs circles with his thumb as you slowly nod, giving him the same feeble smile you did Yoongi.  

“Just about.”  

“And what about our little passenger?” Namjoon glances at your bump and again you nod, touched by his concern.

“Still kicking away,” you assure quietly, leaning your head on his chest.  It’s as that moment that Yoongi’s tyres meet a speed-bump, jolting you up and down with a shout of pain, despite him having taken it slowly.  

“Sorry, sorry,” Yoongi sheepishly mutters from the front seat, hands flexing around the wheel, and Namjoon tells him not to worry because you’re too busy trying to collect yourself and not unintentionally lose your shit for something purely accidently.  

Everything feels so low, like her head is sitting right in your ass, and it’s so uncomfortable, especially when you’re jostled around.  You try to focus on your husband’s comforting presence and the gentle way his fingers are trailing up and down your side, watching the streetlights speeding past the windows in the blink of an eye, but then another contraction starts and all those good intentions are abruptly cast aside.

“Ow, ow, fuck this one hurts,” you huff, grabbing onto Namjoon’s hand and squeezing it tightly, screwing your eyes closed and tensing your jaw to try and bare it as best you can.  How can they still be getting stronger?  This one feels even more intense, even longer lasting than they did just ten minutes ago, and to make it all the more unpleasant you seem to be draining more water each and every time.  Yoongi really might need his car cleaning again after this…

“Try to keep breathing baby, it’s gonna hurt more if you tense up,” Namjoon whispers into your ear, earning him a sharp smack on the leg.

“Easy for you to say!”  you grit out, but you try your best to take his suggestion anyway, knowing that he’s probably right.

“They really hurt that bad, huh?”  Yoongi asks, turning to look at you whilst you’re sat at a red light.  You give him the finger mid-pant and with that he turns back around, turning on the radio to drown out your groans.  Charming.  

You have at least another five contractions that you practically hyperventilate through before you arrive at the hospital’s maternity department, and with each one that’s gone by you’ve noticed Yoongi’s becoming more and more worried.  Well… simultaneously worried and amused by Namjoon’s seeming inability to get anything right.  And it’s not concern for your welfare that has Yoongi frowning; you know that.  He’s probably just freaking out that you’re going to have the baby right there in his precious back seat, placenta and all.  

He calls ‘good luck’ as Namjoon hauls you out of the car, earning another scalding for pulling on you too hard, and you can’t help but wonder to which of you it’s directed as he takes off, hurrying home, back to his bed. 

Either way, you have a feeling that both of you will need it.  

I hope you like this guys.  I know it might not be everyone’s cup of tea and it might actually be little boring for some - but this is my passion so I enjoy writing about it, so bare with me ^^ <3 <3 

[perlukafarinn]

a fic for amazing detective/genius @blazeeblake for winning my 600 followers celebration game! they requested a fic set in my dean smith/mafioso!cas AU involving feelings coming out during a fight

Dean hates waking up alone. Or, more accurately, he hates waking up alone after falling asleep with someone. Blinking his eyes slowly open, hand resting on the cold pillow next to him, Dean has to swallow back the disappointment. He should have seen this coming. The few times Cas has given in to his near-begging and actually deigned to show up at Dean’s apartment, he’s always snuck out in the middle of the night.

Dean tries not to let it bother him. Cas has places to be, and he’s got plenty of enemies who would love to catch him with his guard down.

If it was just the waking up alone that was bothering him, Dean could probably let it slide. But it isn’t. Whenever they’re together, it ends with sex. Even the dinners Cas has invited him out to have played out more like extended foreplay. And Dean loves it, really, but he’s beginning to think that it’s all there is to their relationship.

Can he even call it that? Is it really a relationship if all they do is fuck? Dean kind of hates himself for wondering – why ruin a good thing by stressing out about it? – but he can’t stop himself. Maybe Michael was right when he called Dean high-maintenance.

Dean quickly shakes himself from that train of thought, sitting up in his bed. And great, thinking of Michael has put him in an even worse mood than before. This is what he gets for letting his mind wander before he’s even had his coffee.

Sighing, he gets out of bed and starts his morning routine. It’s easy to get lost in but the bad mood is harder to shake and by the time Dean’s pulling out of his garage, he’s already feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache.

The morning passes slowly. Thanks to Cas’ near daily visits at this point, Dean is way behind on his paperwork. He hasn’t gotten in trouble for it yet – he suspects his bosses’ relentless need to please Cas has something to do with that – but Dean takes pride in his work and the last couple of weeks he’s really let it fall by the wayside.

(He ignores the part where that didn’t start to bother him until Cas ditched him in the middle of the night one time too many.)

He’s on a decent roll by the time lunch rolls around. Dean usually eats in the office to save himself time but today, he doesn’t even allow himself the luxury of his usual salad. There’s way too much work to do.

By the time Cas shows up at his office, Dean has buried himself so thoroughly in work that he almost doesn’t notice the doors sliding open.

Almost.

“Not in the mood,” he says without looking up.

Cas closes the door behind him, walking up to Dean’s desk. “That’s new.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean hits send on the email he was working on, finally looking up. Cas is regarding him with a half-raised eyebrow, expression otherwise blank. “I’ve been slacking off, I need to catch up.”

He should have seen it coming but his heart still jumps when Cas circles the desk, grabbing the arms on Dean’s chair and pulling so Dean’s facing him.

“Is that all?” he says with a grin. “I can take care of that.”

Then he’s leaning down and Dean genuinely wants the kiss that is coming, wants Cas to take care of him the way he always does and take him out of his head for just half an hour. But mindless sex is what got him in this trouble in the first place, and he’s still (rightfully) pissed at Cas for bailing without even waking him, so he raises his hand, pushing Cas away at the shoulder.

“I don’t want you to take care of it,” he grinds out. “I want to do my job properly.”

Cas straightens, looking bewildered. “I apologize. I merely wanted to help.”

“Maybe next time, offer it without devaluing my job.”  

Cas bristles. “Watch your mouth, boy.”

“Or what?” Dean snaps. “You’re gonna punish me? Bend me over that desk even though I just told you I didn’t want it? Hurt me without my consent?”

Cas pales and recoils, and Dean immediately wants to take those words back. Cas is dominating and possessive, sure, but Dean has never thought for one moment that he would do anything to Dean he didn’t want him to do. He’s done nothing to earn these kinds of accusations.

“Is that what you think of me?” Cas asks.

Dean lowers his head, shame sitting heavy in his gut. “No. I’m sorry, I just- I say stupid shit when I’m pissed. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Why are you pissed?”

Dean snaps his gaze up again. Cas looks genuinely confused and Dean feels his shame quickly burning away, replaced by anger.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asks. “You were the one who just left in the middle of the night. You didn’t even wake me up to let me know you were going.”

“I don’t-” Cas purses his lips, looking annoyed. He’s probably not used to people talking back to him in this way. This might even be the first fight he’s had with a significant other. Dean would laugh about it if it wasn’t so frustrating. “It’s never bothered you before.”

“It’s always bothered me,” Dean admits. “I mean, geez, way to make a guy feel cheap.”

“That was never my inte-”

It’s at that exact moment that Dean’s stomach decides to rumble loudly, and Cas snaps his mouth shut, looking bewildered.

“When was the last time you ate?” he asks.

Dean waves his hand, cheeks warming with embarrassment. “Don’t worry about it. I skipped lunch to catch up. I’ll have a big dinner instead.”

“You shouldn’t be skipping meals,” Cas says with a frown. “Those silly juice cleanses of yours are bad enough-”

“Don’t,” Dean cuts him off. “You don’t get a say in what I eat, okay? We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

Cas’ jaw twitches. “Alright. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, heart pounding desperately as he watches Cas turn and go. Part of him wants to say something to stop him, but why should he? He’s not the one who treats Cas like a disposable fuck toy.

All right, that’s probably not fair. But Dean is too pissed to care about fair right now, the feeling of waking to a cold, empty bed that morning still lingering with him, along with Michael’s dismissive voice from two years ago echoing in his head, telling him you’re being needy, Dean. Don’t make this into something it’s not.

Fuck. His issues with Michael are something he probably should have dealt with ages ago, before they had the chance to ruin what he has with Cas. But who says what he has with Cas is even worth saving? Maybe Dean should just end it now, save himself further hurt along the way.

The thought of ending things with Cas makes him mildly nauseous, though, so Dean pushes it out of his mind. It’s a problem for another day. Right now, he needs to concentrate on work.

 Cas doesn’t drop by the next day. Or the day after that. By the third Cas-less day, Dean can barely concentrate on work, so preoccupied with watching his door, waiting for Cas to come waltzing inside without so much as a knock, telling Dean that it’s alright and that he’s forgiven.

Then again, Dean doesn’t really want to be forgiven, because he did nothing wrong. Holding Cas accountable for his shitty behavior is not being needy, Michael. Even if Cas sees him as just a hook-up, he could at least do Dean the courtesy of telling him.

By the end of the day, Dean has worked himself into a confused frenzy of anger, worry, and regret, and finding Cas sitting on his living room couch when he gets home is about the last thing he expects.

And yet.

“Long day?” Cas asks as he gets up, approaching Dean slowly.

Dean sputters. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt you at work.” Cas stops just a couple of feet away from him, reaching his hand out to grasp the lapel of Dean’s coat. “Aren’t you going to take that off?”

And Dean should have known. Of course Cas is only here for sex. That’s all he ever wants Dean for.

“I’ll keep it on,” Dean says frostily. “How did you get inside?”

Cas shrugs lazily. “It was easy. We really should see about getting you some better security.”

“We,” Dean echoes. “You really planning on sticking around that long?”

Cas blinks, looking taken aback. Dean sighs, shouldering his way past him and into the apartment, putting his briefcase down on the kitchen counter and shrugging off his coat (not because Cas told him to. His apartment is just really warm, okay?).

“Have I given you any reason to doubt that?”

Dean scoffs. “You haven’t given me any reason to believe that, let’s put it that way. Or are you gonna try and tell me this isn’t just about sex? That you weren’t planning on moving on as soon as the novelty wore off?”

There’s no response from Cas. Dean turns around, heart catching in his throat at the sight of Cas, still standing in the foyer, looking as lost as Dean has ever seen him. It’s so far from the confident and demanding presence he usually exudes effortlessly, it almost hurts to watch.

“Dean, I-” Cas snaps his mouth shut, looking frustrated. “I can’t afford any emotional commitments.”

Dean’s heart sinks. He should have seen this coming but some stupid part of him was still holding onto hope. “Well, you won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

He stalks up to the door, grabbing the knob to swing it open, but just as he’s about to Cas’ hand closes over his, holding it still. Dean looks up, startled, eyes meeting Cas’ just a few scant inches away.

“You don’t understand,” Cas tells him, gently prying Dean’s fingers away from the doorknob and lacing their fingers together. “I can’t afford them, but I am attached. I care for you deeply.”

Dean swallows. His heart his beating so hard, he can barely hear Cas’ quiet words over the sound of blood rushing past his ears, head spinning with the sudden revelation.

“But no matter how much I want to,” Cas continues, “I can’t show it without putting you into a very dangerous position. Above all else, I need to protect you. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you, I love you too much to see you get hurt.”

“You-- you love me?”

Cas ducks his gaze, cheeks flushing a light pink. “I understand if you don’t-”

“I love you too,” Dean blurts out, feeling an answering blush rising to his own cheeks. “Jesus, Cas, of course I do. I’ve been driving myself crazy, thinking this was just about sex for you.”

In the next instance Cas’ palms are cupping his cheek and he’s pulling Dean in for a fiery kiss, backing him into the door, pressing his body tight against Dean’s. Dean moans brokenly, wrapping his arms around Cas’ waist.

Cas pulls away, resting his forehead against Dean’s. “I’m so sorry I lead you to believe that. I needed to keep my distance, but I never considered what it might seem like to you.”

“It’s okay,” Dean breathes, feeling a little light-headed from that kiss. He laughs breathlessly. “I mean, at least half of it was just my issues over my shitty ex.”

Cas’ brows furrowed. “What is his name?”

Tempting as it is to let Cas punish Michael however he sees fit, Dean would rather not have that on his conscience. Or possibly his police record. “Doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.” He reaches one hand down, grasping Cas’ butt cheek and giving it a firm squeeze. “Now take me to bed.”

“Is this just about sex to you?” Cas chastises, though he can barely keep from smiling as he says it.

“It’s been three days,” Dean whines. “I need you to fuck me already.”

Cas hums, pressing a teasing kiss against Dean’s lips, backing away as Dean tries to chase him. “It has been too long. I think you need to be reminded of who’s in charge here.”

A shiver runs down Dean’s spine. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he says, “just be there when I wake up.”

Cas thumb runs over his cheek. It’s such an uncharacteristically gentle gesture, so far removed from the way he usually is that it has Dean’s breath catching in his throat. “I will.”

And Dean believes him.

[staticsandstationery]

Well, it’s that time of year again. School is just around the corner. In about a month, you’ll be starting your first official year as a college student! Let’s be real, you’re probably feeling some weird combination of terrified, excited, nauseous, and strangely independent, all of which is very confusing (as if moving, starting at a new school, and meeting 5000 new people in one day isn’t confusing enough). So, what can we do about this weird combination of feelings? 

Well, for one, I can offer you some sage wisdom (or something like that). You see, not only is this about to be my fourth (count ‘em, fourth) rodeo, but I specialize in helping incoming freshmen. I spent a year and a half as an RA, and I’ve spent the past year as an ambassador for my college of engineering, literally having the sole purpose of helping incoming and existing freshmen learn the ropes.

So, buckle up, because (and this is a long one, folks) here are Sam’s 20 pieces of advice:

Make sure you have almost everything you’ll need for your dorm. Keep in mind that wherever you’re going will have stores, a fact your parents will point out multiple times, but also remind them that people will be coming from far away places, and they should get first dibs at the Wal-Mart shower caddies. (exception: if you are the one coming from a far away place)

Play tetris with your stuff before the morning you move. Chances are you have a lot of junk, so don’t try to figure out how to make it all fit in the back of your hatchback the morning you head to school. Take some time in the days leading up to the move to make sure you have boxes that will actually fit in the back of your car.

On the same note, don’t overpack. You need a lot less stuff than you think you do, I promise.

Know that everyone is just as terrified/excited/nauseous/independent/confused as you are. You aren’t alone in this one. Which is strangely comforting.

Once you get there, take note of what your RA actually looks like. I noticed this with my own residents, that even though I did their check in or filled out their paperwork, they didn’t realize I was the RA until about two weeks in. If you’re not sure who they are, or if they’re even an RA, let alone yours, just ask them. Once you figure out which one belongs to you, memorize their face so you know who to go to for help.

Keep an open mind. Whether you’re meeting your new roommates for the first time or you were mildly concerned by your new neighbor across the hall, don’t make any opinions about anyone before you give them at least a week. Everyone is still figuring everything out, just like you, so don’t be too quick to judge.

Let your parents/guardians/grown ups clean your room when you get there. They may not want to, but if they’re anything like my mother, they’ll only say they don’t want to and then start vacuuming and wiping down every surface they can find. Don’t try to stop them, just let it happen. They’re nesting for their little chick and it’s helping them feel better about abandoning you in a strange place.

Don’t eat dinner alone in your room your first night. You don’t necessarily have to go out anywhere, you can eat Easy Mac, but see if your RA has anything planned or if there’s anything happening on campus. If not, take your Easy Mac or freezer dinner to the lounge and see who’s around.

Introduce yourself to as many people as possible. It is perfectly valid to not remember their name during the first week, and this is one of the few times in your life it will be socially acceptable to ask everyone to remind you of their name 3 times in a row. But even if you can’t remember their name, you’ll recognize their face and feel more comfortable approaching them if you see them around campus.

Find something that you’re passionate about and join a club or organization. I always tell my freshmen residents, as well as any incoming freshman I take on a tour to find at least two things they’re extremely passionate about. Find something within your college, like a professional society for your major, but also find something else. Whether that’s an intramural team or a hobby club (my favorites on our campus are the Lumberjack Club and the Cat Club), find what makes you happy and can give you a break from all of your classes. Now, keep i mind that you can join more than two clubs or organizations, but practice some moderation here. You don’t want to overextend yourself. You’re still trying to figure out where the nearest bathroom is from all your classes, you don’t need to try to conquer campus.

Befriend an upperclassman. Preferably one in your major, but any will work just fine. What you’re looking for here is someone you feel comfortable asking weird questions to, like “SOS, I’m so lost where do I go from here,” or “Wait, which building was it where I can’t take the front stairs?” Also, they’ll usually have material from whatever classes you’re taking that they will be willing to pass on to you.

Don’t put stuff off. It may not seem like a lot, but it definitely piles up. This applies to homework, joining that club, talking to that cute kid in your class, or confronting someone about that thing that upset you. Just shut up and do it.

The only people you should worry about impressing are your parents and yourself. Make them proud, and make yourself proud, and you will have accomplished everything you should have set out to do during your time in college. Your GPA does not define you. It’s just a number.

If the people you meet at orientation don’t become your BFFs, it’s not the end of the world. You have so much time ahead of you to meet the people that will stay in your life for years to come, so don’t stress about meeting them now.

Be aware of those around you. For most of you, this will be your first time sharing a bedroom with another human, so be aware that they have lives and feelings, too. No one needs to hear you fornicating at 3 am. Also think about the other people in classes with you. Be respectful of not only your time, but the time of those around you as well. 

Learn how to bake awesome cookies. Everyone will love you. Note: any baked goods will suffice.

Call home every now and then. Your family wants to hear from you and make sure you’re still alive and feeding yourself properly, so check in every now and then.

DO NOT go home your first two weeks of college. You’ll be homesick, and that’s normal and expected, but I promise you that it will only be worse if you give in and go home. Besides, you’ll miss out on all sorts of opportunities to meet new people and get plugged in on campus.

You might fail your first exam and that is just fine. I literally got a 22% on the first exam I ever took in college, and they’ve let me stick around for 3 whole years. College is different than high school, and the grades may be lower than you’ve been used to. Just power through and keep working hard and everything will be just fine.

Ask for help if you need it. I don’t care what kind of help you need, but you can’t get it unless you ask for it. Whether it’s in your personal life or class, there is a human who exists for the sole purpose of helping you through anything you’ve got going on, so call your mom, approach your RA, go to your professor’s office hours. The resources are there, you just need to know where to look for them. 

Now that you’ve read this, get off Tumblr and go introduce yourself to someone new (unless you aren’t on campus yet, in which case, keep doing what you’re doing).

Alrighty, that’s all I’ve got for now. Good luck to all of you, you’re going to rock the socks of your freshman year. Let me know how it goes!

[emetofiend2dand3d]

Rin (during season 2) collapses during practice for whatever reason :D

I presume by stressing season 2 you are indicating a Sousuke pairing? I’m just guessing hopefully that’s alright.

So I gave Rin a middle ear infection which causes vertigo and can also cause a fever, nausea, and vomiting. It’s also something you can get when you swim a lot.

(Ps. This story has a partial hospital setting)

.

He had been feeling off that day and the day previously. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he just felt off balance and wobbly, like he had just gotten off of a roller coaster ride. It didn’t affect him too severely though, because he hardly noticed it when he was swimming. It wasn’t until he hoisted himself out of the pool and stood up that it really hit him.

He felt dizzy and was having trouble seeing strait. Trying to focus his vision made him feel even nauseous and he could hardly stand upright.

Sousuke was at the other end of the pool talking to some younger swimmers, when he noticed Rin acting strangely. He excused himself from talking to them, and made his way over to Rin.

Rin could only see a figure approaching him and he didn’t know it was Sousuke until he was only a few feet away.

He gulped saliva in his mouth and tried with all his might to stand up strait.

“Hey, you alright Rin?” Sousuke came up to him with his hands on his hips.

Rin wanted nothing more than to tell him he was fine but he was so dizzy he was barely functioning. He tried to open his mouth but the moment he did, he pitched forward and with a heave spewed vomit all over the ground in front of Sousuke.

He was almost glad he couldn’t see the look on Sousuke’s face as he swayed slightly for a moment before Sousuke became a blurry figure that was getting farther away. He was pretty sure he could hear Sousuke calling him but he could only hear muffled sounds. The walls seemed like they were closing in on him until everything slowly faded to black.

He hit the ground so fast Sousuke didn’t even have a chance to register he was falling.

He dropped his clipboard and kneeled at Rin’s side. “Rin? Rin!” He touched his shoulder, shouting at him. “Go get help.” He told one of the younger swimmers, who nodded and ran off.

“Rin? Come on, wake up man.” A small amount of vomit dropped out of the side of Rin’s mouth and Sousuke used his sleeve to mop it off his face. He wasn’t the type to panic but at that moment he was having difficulty remaining calm.

Slowly, Rin regained consciousness and he tried to open his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy and they opened slowly. “Sousuke?” He tried to get up but Sousuke wouldn’t let him, and encouraged him to stay laying down.

“Don’t move Rin just relax. I’ve got some help coming.” He told Rin softly.

“What happened?” Rin could feel his shoulder aching where he presumably fell. “Help me up.” Rin tried to sit up again and Sousuke tried to stop him, but he wasn’t quick enough.

The moment he sat up, the dizziness returned, along with the feeling of nausea.

“Just lay down Rin. We don’t want you getting sick again do we?”

Rin was confused as to why Sousuke was talking to him in in such a patronizing manner, but he laid back nonetheless. He tried to breath through his nose, shutting his eyes, remaining as calm as he could. But the nausea didn’t go away with lack of movement. It persisted, even as he was laying as still as a log.

“Sousuke. I think-guh- I might be sick again.” He warned.

“Okay, just hold on a second Rin.” Sousuke begged. He carefully rolled Rin on his side and lifted him up by the shoulders. Rin’s head flopped forwards, and his chin rested on his chest. Sousuke lightly placed his hand over Rin’s forehead to support his neck. “There. It’s okay now Rin.”

Rin was so close to him he could feel his heart beating as their wet skin touched. He was entirely at the mercy of Sousuke. He didn’t have the strength to hold himself up, so if he let go, Rin would fall face forward.

Sousuke could feel Rin’s wet hair between his fingers as he supported his head. He noticed that Rin was abnormally warm despite being soaked with pool water.

Rin coughed weakly, and even that made it difficult for Sousuke to hold him up. Rin continued with a gag and he almost dropped him. Sousuke grabbed him around his abdomen and back, supporting his entire body. The next time Rin gagged, his back curled over until it was pushing against Sousuke’s chest. But this time Sousuke had him in a strong hold, supporting Rin’s entire body as it rebelled against him.

Sousuke could hear a sound coming from inside Rin’s throat. The sound was similar to hearing him chug a soda, but he knew it really was.

Rin’s stomach contents shot up this esophagus and into his mouth. His body lurched forward and he spat out the fowl liquid onto the concrete ground.

“That’s it Rin. It’s okay.” Sousuke ran his fingers through his hair and Rin continued to gag. Then he was sick a second time, coving the first pile of sick with a second layer.

Help appeared behind them and Sousuke turned Rin in a more suitable position to be tended to. He brought Rin back into his arms and had him lay his head in the crevice of his elbow.

“I’m c-c-cold.” Rin was shivering.

“It’s okay. There’s someone here to help you now.” Sousuke wiped vomit from the corner’s of his lips.

Rin looked up and saw a man dressed in red clothing, crouching down to look at him. “We’re going to take you to the emergency room to check you over.” He explained.

“What?” Rin began to panic. “No! Sousuke don’t let them take me away!” He squirmed in his arms trying to push himself up but he was too weak.

“The fever might be influencing his behavior.” The paramedic told Sousuke. “For his own safety he should he brought in.”

Sousuke nodded hesitantly and let the man tend to Rin. Rin tried to struggle, but he was so weak that he didn’t even have the strength to hold himself up.

He was strapped into a rolling bed and put inside an ambulance.

“Sousuke! Don’t leave me alone!” He cried, trying, unsuccessfully to unbuckle the straps around his body.

The parametric granted Sousuke permission to ride with Rin, so he got in the car.

The moment the vehicle started moving Rin began moaning loudly.

“What is it Rin?” Sousuke put his hand on his arm.

Rin responded with a sound that sounded like a wet burp, but he looked up to see sick dripping down Rin’s chin and down his shirt.

“Shit Rin.” Although Rin had already been sick three times he was still caught by surprise.

The paramedic sitting in the back with them, wiped Rin’s face with a towel and handed him a basin.

Rin must have been sick four times over the course of the short ride. By the time they got to the hospital he was drained and ready to lay in a bed and sleep.

He was only half conscious as he was poked and prodded by nurses and doctors.

After what felt like two hours, a nurse gave him a liquid medication for him to drink, explaining it was for his fever.

“I have a fever?” Rin looked at Sousuke who confirmed with a nod.

Rin sighed, but swallowed down the liquid obediently.

He only just realized he had a basin in his lap and had been undressed and put in a gown.

“What’s this for?” Rin pointed to the basin.

“In case you need to puke any more. Although I’d be amazed if you still had anything left in our stomach.” He told him.

Rin wasn’t sure what he meant, and was wondering if he was missing something. But as the minutes went by he thought there might be some credit to Sousuke’s claim.

He felt nauseous, and it escalated quickly. He wore a pained expression on his face and sat in bed curled up with his arms wrapped around his stomach. Sousuke didn’t seem as surprised anymore. “Rin? Are you going to be sick?”

Rin swallowed hard, before nodding, and Sousuke came around the other side the the bed.

“Just make sure to use this.” Sousuke held up the basin for him. “I don’t think you would want to have to change your gown again.” He said lightheartedly.

“Again?” Rin was lost. “Sousuke.” He turned to look at him with droopy eyes. “How l long have I been here?”

Sousuke looked up at the clock and counted for a moment. “Almost five hours.”

Rin was flabbergasted. “You’ve been here this whole time?”

Sousuke shrugged. “I was worried about you.”

Rin felt a strange warmness come over him as he heard him say this. But the nice feeling was short lived as he felt his stomach muscles contract and liquid shoot up his throat.

Sousuke grabbed the basin and held it under Rin’s chin as he leaned over and vomited up all the liquid medicine the nurse had given him.

“Gah. There goes the second dose.” Sousuke frowned.

Rin spat out the remaining taste in his mouth. “Second?”

“We’ve been trying to get your fever down for hours now, but you can’t seem to keep down any medicine.” He wore a look of worry on his face.

Rin felt bad for being the source of Sousuke’s distress, but he wasn’t sure how to comfort him.

The doctor returned in the room with a sigh. “No good?” He pulled up a chair and sat beside Rin with a clipboard. “Well Mr. Matsouka, I’ve given you the strongest anti-emetic we have and you still can’t hold anything in your stomach, so the tentative diagnosis is a middle ear infection. It could be causing all your symptoms. May I ask, do you frequently swim?” He looked at Rin seriously.

Rin might have chuckled if he hadn’t been to tired. “Yes, I do.”

The doctor patted Rin’s shoulder with a smile. “I’ll get a line of antibiotics set up for you. You’re fever should be gone in a few hours.”

The doctor left, and Sousuke sighed a loud breath of relief. “You really had me scared you know?” He said, sounding mildly annoyed. “And all it tuned out to be was an ear infection? I always knew you were a lightweight.” He punched Rin’s arm lightly.

Rin crossed his arms. “Oh shut up.”

Then the two were silent for a brief moment before Rin spoke. “Thanks for staying with me.” He couldn’t look Sousuke in the eyes, but Sousuke chucked at Rin. “That’s alright. You’d do the same for me.”